Mutation (35 page)

     Victor laughed a hollow laugh at this suggestion. "But you're joking, of course. We can't stay here. Marsha may be able to reschedule her patients, but Chimera can't be put on hold. I have a lot of work to do. Besides, everyone knows I'm on the grounds. Sooner or later they'd start searching for me."

     VJ considered the situation. "Okay," he said at last. "You can go. But Mom will have to stay here."

     Victor was impressed that Marsha had been able to anticipate him so correctly. "I'd be with her every minute," Victor said, still trying to get them both out.

     "One or the other," VJ said. "It's not up for discussion."

     "All right, if you insist," said Victor. "I'll tell Marsha. Be right back."

     Victor made his way back to the door to VJ's living quarters. One of the guards had to come and open it with a key. Victor went over to Marsha and whispered, "He's agreed to let one of us out. Are you sure you don't want to be the one to go?"

     Marsha shook her head no. "Please just contact Jean and tell her I won't be available until further notice. Tell her to refer emergencies to Dr. Maddox."

     Victor nodded. He kissed Marsha on the cheek, grateful she didn't recoil. Then he turned to go.

     Back in the main lab room VJ was giving instructions to two of the guards.

     "This is Jorge," VJ said, introducing Victor to a smiling South American. He was the same man who'd earlier tried to knife Victor. Apparently there were no hard feelings on his side, because along with the smile, he stuck out his hand for Victor to shake.

     "Jorge has offered to accompany you," VJ said.

     "I don't need a baby-sitter," Victor said, suppressing his anger.

     With a grim smile, VJ said, "I don't think you understand. It's not your choice. Jorge is to stay with you to remind you not to be tempted to talk with anyone who might give me trouble. He will also remind you that Marsha is here with one of Jorge's friends." VJ let the threat hang unspoken.

     "But I don't need a guard. And how will I explain him? Really, VJ, I didn't expect this of you."

     "I have perfect confidence that you will think of a way to explain him," VJ said. "Jorge will make us all sleep just a little better. And let me warn you: trouble with the police or other authorities would only be a bother and slow the program, not stop it. Don't disappoint me, Father. Together we will revolutionize the biotechnology industry."

     Victor swallowed with difficulty. His mouth had gone dry.

15. Monday Afternoon

     The day had turned cloudy and blustery by the time Victor emerged from the clock tower building and set off for his office. A few steps behind him was Jorge, who'd made a show of displaying the knife he kept hidden in his right boot. But the gesture had had the desired effect. Victor knew that he was in the presence of a man accustomed to killing.

     Despite telling Marsha he'd think of something, Victor had no idea what to do. He was in a dazed frenzy by the time he reached his office. He traversed the pool of secretaries unsteadily, with Jorge one step behind him.

     "Excuse me!" Colleen said as Victor cruised by her desk. She jumped up, snatching a pile of messages. Victor had reached the door to his office. He turned to the South American. "You'll have to wait out here," he said.

     Jorge brushed past Victor as if Victor had not said anything. Colleen, who had witnessed the exchange, was appalled, especially since the South American was wearing a Chimera security uniform. "Should I call security?" she whispered to Victor.

     Victor said it wouldn't be necessary. Colleen shrugged and got down to business. "I have a lot of messages," she said. "I've been trying to call you. I need-"

     Victor placed his hand on her arm and eased her back so he could swing the door shut. "Later," he told her.

     "But-" Colleen intoned as the door was shut in her face.

     Victor locked the door as an added precaution. Jorge had already made himself comfortable on the couch in the rear of the room. The man was casually attending to his fingernails.

     Victor went behind his desk and sat down. The phone rang immediately but he didn't answer. He knew it was Colleen. He looked over at Jorge, who waved with his nail clipper and smiled a toothy grin.

     Victor let his head sink into his hands. What he needed was a plan. Jorge was an unwanted distraction. The man exuded a reckless, haughty confidence that said, "I'm a killer and I'm sitting in your office and you can't do a thing about it." It was difficult for Victor to concentrate with Jorge watching over him.

     "You don't look like you're doing much work to me," Jorge said suddenly. "VJ said that you needed to leave because you had a lot of work to do. I suggest you get busy unless you want me to call VJ and tell him that you are just sitting around holding your head."

     "I was just gathering my thoughts," Victor said. He leaned over and pressed his intercom. When Colleen responded, he said, "Bring in my messages and let's get to work."

     For the first hour, Marsha occupied herself by looking through some of the hundreds of periodicals in the bookcase. But they were over her head; all were highly technical, devoted to theories and experiments on the cutting edge of biology, physics, and chemistry. She got up and paced the room and even tried the door, but, as expected, it was locked.

     She sat down at the table again, wondering what course of action Victor would take. He would have to be very resourceful. VJ was an exceptional adversary. He'd also have to have an enormous amount of moral courage, and in light of his NGF experiments, she had no idea if he had it in him.

     Just then the bolt of the lock was thrown and VJ stepped in. "I thought maybe you could use a little company," he said cheerfully. "There's someone I'd like you to meet." He stepped aside and Mary Millman walked in smiling, her hand outstretched.

     Marsha stood up, searching for words.

     "Mrs. Frank!" Mary said, shaking her hand with enthusiasm. "I've been looking forward to seeing you. I thought I'd have to wait for at least another year. How are you?"

     "Fine, I guess," Marsha said.

     "I thought you ladies would enjoy chatting," said VJ. "I'll be leaving this door ajar; if you're hungry or thirsty, just let one of Martinez's people know."

     "Thank you," Mary said. "Isn't he wonderful?" she said to Marsha after he was gone.

     "He's unique," Marsha said. "How did you get here?"

     "It's a surprise, isn't it?" Mary said. "Well, it surprised me too, at the time. I'll tell you how it happened."

     "What next?" Victor asked. Colleen was sitting in her usual spot, directly across from him. Jorge was still back on the couch, lounging comfortably. Colleen shuffled through her papers and messages. "I think that does it for now. Anything you want me to do?" She rotated her eyes toward Jorge meaningfully.

     "Nope," Victor said as he handed over the last document he had signed. "I'll be heading home. If there are any problems, call me there."

     After a quick glance at her watch, Colleen looked back at Victor. "Is everything all right?" He'd been acting strangely ever since he'd returned with the Chimera security guard in tow.

     "Everything is just hunky-dory," he said, slipping his pen inside his top drawer.

     Colleen looked at her boss of seven years. He'd never used that term before. She stood up, gave Jorge a dirty look, and left the room.

     "Time to go," Victor said to Jorge.

     Jorge pulled himself up from the couch. "We going back to the lab?" he asked in his heavy accent.

     "I'm going home," Victor said, getting his coat. "I don't know where you're going."

     "I'm with you, friend."

     Victor was curious if there would be any troubles as he tried to drive off the site. But the guard at the gate saluted as usual. The fact that a Chimera guard was accompanying him drew no comment from the man stationed at the gate.

     As they were crossing the Merrimack, Jorge reached over and turned on the radio. He searched for and found a Spanish station. Then he turned up the sound to nearly deafening levels, snapping his fingers to the beat.

     It was clear to Victor that Jorge was his first hurdle. As he drove up the drive and rounded the house he began to think of his alternatives. There was a root cellar below the barn with a stout door Victor felt he could secure. The problem was luring the man into it.

     As they got out of the car, Victor let the garage door down, wondering if he could sneak up on Jorge and bop him on the head just as he'd been hit when he'd first stumbled onto VJ's lab. Victor opened the door into the family room and left it open for Jorge, who insisted on walking behind.

     Victor took off his coat and draped it over the couch. Being a realist, he decided he couldn't hit the man. He knew he'd hit him either too softly or too hard, and either would be a disaster. He'd have to try something else. But what?

     Victor was at a loss until he used the downstairs bathroom. Spotting a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet, he remembered the old doctor's bag he'd been given as a fourth-year medical student. He'd used it all the way through his training and, as far as he could remember, it was still filled with a variety of commonly prescribed drugs.

     Emerging from the bathroom, Victor found Jorge in front of the family room TV, flipping the channels aimlessly. Victor went upstairs. Unfortunately, Jorge followed. But in the upstairs study, Victor again got him interested in the television. Victor went into the closet and found the black bag.

     Taking a handful of Seconal, Valium, and Dalmane, Victor put the bag back, slipping the pills and capsules into his pocket. When he backed out into the room, he discovered that Jorge had found the Spanish cable station.

     "I usually have a drink when I get home," Victor said. "Can I offer you anything?"

     "What do you have?" Jorge asked without taking his eyes from the TV.

     "Just about anything," Victor said. "How about I make up some margaritas?"

     "What are margaritas?" Jorge asked.

     The question surprised Victor; he had thought margaritas were a popular South American drink. Maybe they were more Mexican than South American. He told Jorge what was in them.

     "I'll have whatever you have," Jorge said.

     Victor went down to the kitchen. Jorge followed, going back to the TV in the family room. Victor got out all the ingredients, including the salt. He made the drinks in a small glass pitcher, and, making sure that Jorge wasn't paying attention, opened each of the capsules and poured the contents into the concoction. The Valium went in as is. There was still some sediment on the bottom even after Victor had vigorously stirred the mixture, so he put it on the blender for a moment. Then he held the pitcher up to the light. It looked fine. Victor estimated there was enough knockout power in the concoction to take someone through abdominal surgery without stirring.

     Victor took a tiny sip. It had a bitter aftertaste, but if Jorge had never had a margarita, he wouldn't know the difference. Victor then put the salt around the rim of the glasses. He made his own drink out of pure lemon juice. When he was ready, he carried the two poured drinks and the pitcher over to the coffee table.

     Jorge took his drink without taking his eyes from the TV. Victor sat back and watched it himself. Some kind of soap opera was on the tube. Victor didn't understand Spanish, but he got the drift quickly enough.

     Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Jorge swallow his drink, then lean forward and pour himself some more. Victor was pleased he was enjoying it so much. The first sign of an effect came quickly enough: Jorge began to blink a lot. He couldn't focus on the TV. Finally he looked over at Victor, trying to focus as best he could. The alcohol must have carried the drugs into his system efficiently enough. Jorge had barely touched his second glass and he could barely keep his eyes open.

     All of a sudden, Jorge tried to get to his feet. He must have realized what was happening because he threw his glass across the room. Victor put his own glass down and grabbed Jorge as he tried to dial the phone. Jorge even attempted to pull out his knife, but his movements were already too uncoordinated and slow. Victor easily disarmed him. In another minute, Jorge was out cold. Victor laid his limp body on the couch. He got some parenteral Valium he kept upstairs and administered the man ten milligrams intramuscularly as a backup. Then he dragged his body across the courtyard and down alongside the barn. He got him into the root cellar and covered him with old blankets and rags to keep his body temperature steady. Then he locked the door with an old padlock.

     Returning to the house, Victor enjoyed his sense of accomplishment, and he thought he had the luxury of time to think of the next step. But as he came through the door, the phone rang. Its ringing scared him into wondering if someone were calling Jorge or if Jorge was supposed to check in now and then. Victor didn't answer the phone. Instead, he put on his coat and went out to the car. Without coming up with another idea, he decided to go to the police.

     The police station was in the corner of the municipal green. It was a two-story brick structure with a pair of ornate brass post lamps topped with blue glass spheres. Victor pulled up to the front and parked in the visitor parking area. When he'd left the house, he'd felt good about having finally made a decision. He was looking forward to dumping the whole mess into somebody else's lap. But as he climbed the front steps between the two spheres, he became less certain about going to the police.

     Victor hesitated just outside the front door. His biggest worry was Marsha, but there were other worries as well. Just as VJ had said, the police probably couldn't do a whole lot, and VJ would be out on the street. The legal system couldn't even handle simple punks, what would it do with a ten-year-old with the intelligence of two Einsteins put together?